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It was late when they got home, or at least what dean could pretend was home for a few weeks.it was cold as fuck and so the brother's breaths were coming out in grey puffs visible against the black sky. Dean was done. He was exhausted, sore from squeezing through the red tape of a police station, and aching from what he had just done. A part of him wanted to go back, let everything be over. Finally, fucking tell someone. He sighed. No, they would take away Sam, put John in prison, and they could never be a family if Dean tore them apart. That’s really all he wanted. For His old Dad to come back, But that was never going to happen. They’d entered a war against the supernatural and they couldn’t rest until the war was won. He stripped his coat and looked at Sam’s eyes, round with worry and confusion. Fuck this was never supposed to happen.
“Dean what just happened?”
‘Nothing kiddo,” He ruffled Sam’s hair, “Just an occupational hazard,”
“Dean we don’t even hunt,” Sam shot back with a classic bitch face.
“So I take it you don't want mac and cheese for dinner?”
“Dean I’m serious! They-they asked me about you and dad.”
“What?”
“They asked me about You and dad, how is that an occupational hazard, Dean?”
“Look Sammy just forget about it okay? They’ll ask you anything to get information out of you. We don’t exactly do everything orthodox.”
“They said it would help you, Dean.” “And they were lying. End of story.” Sam didn't respond and so Dean just sighed and started making dinner, plopping it down in front of Sam and the going to change Into sweat pants. He came back down and the bowl was left empty on the table and Sammy went up to his room. He sighed and started washing the dishes, along with the pot he had used, when the door swung open and a clearly wasted John Winchester hobbled into the room. His entire body went stiff. The door swung closed with a bang and he flinched. John glared at him annoyed that Dean’s existence that was too loud despite his silence. Dean bit his lip chewing in the decision he was now faced with. He knew that john wouldn’t be happy if he up and left leaving his mess, despite the fact that it was only the mess of his providing. At the same time, washing dishes could be too much noise and was risky when John was this drunk. It was times like this Dean wished he didn’t exist. Carefully he turned on the water and ran a plate under it. He waited for a reaction and when none came a small breath of relief escaped him. As he continued and confidence built with each dished he put on the rack to dry. He started to forget that John was even there, so of course, he didn’t notice the grunt that john made, too caught up in his own world. But even in his world of Metallica and clinical-smelling suds wouldn't ignore the bottle skimming the side of his head, if I’d gone a little left, well that could’ve meant hospital.
“I told you to shut up.” John slurred. He rolled off the couch and stumbled to the kitchen. Dean froze as the fridge door swung open and it was drained of a beer. John looked over at Dean and scoffed, “Pathetic, you can’t even clean a few dishes.” Dean remained frozen as his father looked over his shoulder.
“What? Nothing to say for yourself.”
‘I thought you wanted me to stay quiet, sir.” He bit out, spite dripping from his words. John growled and yanked on Dean’s shirt collar throwing him back. Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes stupid stupid stupid stupid You should’ve just stayed quiet stupid stupid stupid.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, boy?” Your son he wanted to spit back, but he bit his tongue. He’d fucked up enough for one night. John threw a punch that hit just under his jaw, and threw him to the ground, slipping from John’s grip. When he landed the ground his breath got knocked out of him, leaving him to lay on the floor trying to breathe.
“Aw, can pretty boy not take a hit?” he asked, punctuating with a sharp kick to his side. He groaned and turned over on his side. Ever kick, every punch came with words more painful than the bruises and cuts that were forming.
……………………………………………………………
Dean woke us coughing and wheezing. After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he dragged himself to the bathroom. A dark blue and purple bruise were blossoming under his chin. Fuck, it might be time to invest in makeup again. His face was also coated in dried blood. He didn't know when his nose decided to open up the floodgates, but everything was a blur anyway so I guess it didn’t really matter. He took off his shirt and revealed a watercolor mess of purples reds, blues, and yellows.
“Fuck,” he gasped as the fabric slid off the sensitive skin. He picked up a towel and put it in his mouth as he felt up and down his rib cage, making sure no ribs were out of place or broken. Once he had finished he was red-faced and sweating from the exertion. He ran the shower. The cold water fell against the tile pink as he worked to scrub himself clean of the previous events. The water was always pink. He doesn’t remember why. He pulled on his boxers and shirt before dashing to his room to get dressed for the day.
He and Sam drove to school. Dean wasn’t sure if Sam knew, god he hoped this kid would never have to learn. He watched Sammy off to his classes before dragging himself yo his own,ignoring the looks he got from his peers. He sighed and got out his notebook, quickly scribbling down the date.
January 24, 1996
Huh, why does that seem familiar? Before he could dwell on it too much the bell rang and shattered his thoughts, and he let himself drown in the motions.